


Pathways

by 0_Q_0



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Gen Work, M/M, Other, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_Q_0/pseuds/0_Q_0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy Unwin is released back into the world after a long time. He can't quite handle it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pathways

**Author's Note:**

> I got to London. This is what happened to me, I almost had an anxiety attack. My luggage was big and heavy and the pavement was uneven and I--
> 
> I told you I was a fucking potatoe. Y'all coulda helped a bruv out.
> 
> I might delete this, and or turn it into an original fiction novel/screenplay. I just needed to get it out of the way. Venting and coping mechanism.

-

 

They release him from the institution at age seventeen. 

Apparently, when you stab your step-dad more than ten times, you end up outside St. Pancras International after six years, stunned at the change in everything. The bustling crowd is unforgiving and Eggsy is too slow, getting in the way. He likes to think the glares shot in his direction doesn't affect him at all, but every time it feels like a stab of dread and helplessness. And isn't that ironic?

He doesn't know this place. He doesn't know London. Not anymore.

The sinking feeling swells--every step he takes, every step he _doesn't_ take--and the map in his hand doesn't help. Nothing makes sense and everything is loud, the engines of public transportation, their impatient honking, the noise of luggage wheels against uneven pavement, the constant construction in the background, the shrieking sirens that's devastatingly shrill, physically hurting the ears.

It's difficult to breathe, and it's not just the smoke from several passers-by, not just the fumes from the cars and buses and the rank smell of piss.

The bag is heavy on his back. It's everything he has owned the past six years--and then some; Goodbye-donation-gifts from the staff, things he might have need of back in the real world. They gave him the sheets of his bed just in case he needed it, and even Eggsy knows they weren't supposed to do that. But he's been good, alright? He's been good.

That doesn't seem to mean anything here.

Eggsy refuses to acknowledge the breath rattling within his lungs, the same way he tries to stop the swelling in his throat and the fingers that grip the stupid useless map. He looks up at the buildings, determined. But even then it's difficult to find the street names and--fuck. _Fuck_ , he doesn't know what to do.

Hands clutching the paper, he stands there, frozen, breaths coming in and out harsher every time. People bump into him, people of all kinds--harried tourists, snooty wankers in business suits, impatient professional women in stilettos--and Eggsy just stares harder at the map, trying not to blink or else his eyes water some more.

He doesn't belong here. He wants to go back. It doesn't matter how long he's waited to be free, it doesn't matter how much he'll regret it after; he can't handle this. What does he have to do to get back? Kill someone? Because he'll do it, he'll do whatever he can--But he's an adult now, and he could be easily convicted as one. The institution is one thing, prison is something else completely.

This has to be done right. This has to--

In his peripherals, a man in a suit smoothly manages to avoid him, a close shave. Again, there are an endless amount of posh wankers in suits, but what catches Eggsy's attention is that this man does a double take, barely noticeable with the mild stoicism in his expression.

Eggsy doesn't mean to meet his eyes. But once he does, he's stuck, feeling useless and stupid and pathetic and he wants to die right here, right now.

The man takes a step back. "Excuse me, young man. Are you waiting for someone?"

"...No," Eggsy manages. "I--" His stomach churns and he fights through it. "I'm looking for...How do I get here?" He indicates to the map. He hates how his hand shakes enough to be obvious.

If the man in the suit notices, he doesn't say anything. He only looks over the paper. "Which one?"

"Here." He points. "I'm trying to look for where I'd cross to get to this, but I don't know what street is which and it's hard to see--" He stops his own rambling.

"Alright." The man steps closer, but not enough to be threatening. "Hmm, where did you get this map? It's a tad bit outdated." He scrutinises the paper, and Eggsy feels even more fucking useless at that.

"I--"

"There's an official map over there." He gestures, and Eggsy wants to die again, because what fucking idiot doesn't notice that? It's a few feet away, and it's practically a pillar of directions.

They make their way there, and the man looks back and forth between it and the paper. For a moment, everything is muffled, unfocused--except for the two of them, motionless and  _real_  in a world of blurred hectic action.

"Ah, here it is--"

"I don't want to make you late or anythin'," Eggsy blurts, devastated. His thick accent seeping through should be evident of that. This man is different from the rest of them. There's plenty of people in suits all around, but his is a much higher quality, more fitted, subtly pinstriped, double-breasted. His watch doesn't look fake either. Why is someone so apparently important wasting time on someone like him?

The man's gaze meets his and Eggsy stops himself from begging him to stay.

"No worries, I have plenty of time," He says, voice light. "Now see here, you can walk further on up to this and cross this particular road to the right, then keep going until you find it."

Eggsy tries to understand. "And that's it?"

"That's it. I recommend you cross this road before, however." He looks towards the actual street, and Eggsy follows his gaze. "Why?"

"Less traffic. Less rude people," He explains, wry, and goes back to the map. "It's a shortcut, almost. You turn left and then you turn right, and then you'd be bound for your normal route, cut in half."

Eggsy nods. "That makes sense." He thinks he can do this now. It won't be so bad. He can make it. Eggsy can feel himself starting to calm down, just a little bit--

"You're good to go, then?"

Eggsy wants to scream. Instead, he nods, not trusting himself to say it. There's a flicker of  _something_  in the man's expression, but he turns his head down for a moment, and it's long gone when he says, "I wish you luck."

"And you." Eggsy says, stupidly. "I mean, thanks--yeah?"

There's a little smile at the corner of his mouth at that, and he goes, crossing the road, moving along with the tide of the crowd. Eggsy can only watch, the sinking feeling getting worse the farther he gets.

He doesn't even know his name. He probably won't ever see him again.

Eggsy stares on until the man disappears. The panic settles in again.

Nevertheless, with the man's directions in mind, he makes his way to his destination, determined.

 

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Tweaked for story purposes; Dialogue isn't exactly exact, duh. I figured the shortcut out on my own. 
> 
> I also didn't stab my stepfather. Because I don't have one.
> 
> The guy in the suit wasn't quite Harry Hart if you know what I mean, and I didn't have a crush--but I think I'm a bit attached. He was so kind to me, no ulterior motives whatsoever. I genuinely felt like I was going to die and then he came along.
> 
> And then went away, but the point is, I got to my hostel and cried there instead of the crowded road outside King's Cross.
> 
> \--should I continue this story or nah? Probably nah, huh?


End file.
